


To the victor, the spoils

by Anonymous



Category: MindCrack RPF
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Poor Life Choices, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Vechs laughs, his manic cackle dissolving into a high pitched, “Oh my god…”“Vechs,” Blame interrupts, “Vechs. I want you to know, I don’t hate you anymore.”“Awwwhhh I love you man holy shit!” It all comes out in a rush, Vechs practically bouncing, full to bursting with joy and still buzzing from the fight.Post UHC 19. Warnings for internalized homophobia and terrible life choices. Not really dubcon, but if you ain’t a fan of grey areas, best skip this one.
Relationships: BlameTheController/Vechs
Kudos: 1
Collections: Anonymous





	To the victor, the spoils

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from Tumblr, 2015.
> 
> Posting here because even if no-one reads it, there's nothing more annoying that coming late to fandom and all of the fic has vanished into Tumblr's useless search function or is hidden behind abandoned communities. (I haven't even been in this fandom for years.)
> 
> This was technically part of a series, but I never posted the rest of it on Tumblr.

Vechs laughs, his manic cackle dissolving into a high pitched, "Oh my god…"

"Vechs," Blame interrupts, "Vechs."

"Yeah?"

"I want you to know…" He's cut short by another mad laugh of Vechs', but carries on over the top as it tails off, sounding far more genuinely delighted than Vechs has ever heard him before, his own laughter breaking through even as he tries to sound somewhat serious, "I don't hate you anymore."

"Awwwhhh I love you man holy _shit_!" It all comes out in a rush, Vechs practically bouncing, full to bursting with joy and still buzzing from the fight.

Then the comms are full of voices, arguing, complaining, throwing insults, retorts, counterarguments and justifications, and even some grudging congratulations, and Vechs can't keep still, not that that's much different from his normal self, but he's got so much nervous energy and adrenaline still running through him that he's shaking with it. The stress-induced sweat is cooling on his skin even in the heat of the nether, making him shiver even more, and he wants to punch something, hit something, it's over and they _won_ but how is it _over_ , he's only just got _started_ … He drifts in and out of the conversation, concentrating on calming his breathing down and letting Blame provide their defense much more eloquently than he could at that moment, until he's able to string words together again, and everyone slowly comes to realize that arguing it out right now isn't going to achieve anything.

It's not until everyone signs off that Vechs' legs finally give way, and he slumps back against the wall and slides down to sit on the floor, occasional semi-hysterical laughs still escaping now and again. Blame keeps pacing, doing a couple of lengths of the corridor before he spots where Vechs is.

"You ok?" he asks, stopping, mask perched on the top of his head, dark eyes looking concerned.

"Yeah, man, just give me a minute," Vechs replies breathily, still fighting down the occasional bout of uncontrolled laughter.

Blame offers a hand, looking down at Vechs. He's still shaking, still lightheaded and unsteady, so he takes Blame's hand and hauls himself to his feet.

They end up almost face to face, despite the height difference, and standing far too close to each other. Even in the thick heat of the nether they can feel the warmth of each others' still heavy breaths, and neither of them seem able to break eye contact. They're both still hyped up and on edge and Vechs is breathing too fast, his face oddly blank for once, jaw slightly slack and eyes wide, like he's surprised at how close Blame is to him, and as if it's caught him off guard.

Then Vechs moves, clutching at Blame's shirt and covering his mouth with his own, clumsy and uncoordinated, closed-mouthed and still tense, almost as though he's using Blame to hold himself upright as much as he's kissing him.

Blame does his best not to stumble backwards as he freezes up with shock, but it wears off fast enough that there's barely seconds of the kiss before he shoves Vechs away, sending him staggering back into the wall with a thump. Vechs' eyes are wide, and get wider when instead of storming off in a fury Blame crowds forwards against him, face dark and dangerous. Vechs couldn't move if he wanted to, fixed in place by almost impossibly dark eyes and what feels like a current of electricity thrumming between them. That lasts barely a moment though before Blame has taken his wrists and pinned them to the wall and started kissing him back, much more roughly. Vechs can't help the moan that slips out, and Blame opens his mouth, one hand releasing Vechs' wrist to tangle in his hair and tug his head to a better angle to get his tongue inside Vechs' mouth, and Vechs all but whimpers. His free hand slips around Blame's waist and pulls him tight against him, bodies in contact from chest to thigh, making it immediately clear just how turned on Vechs already is, and how close behind Blame is running.

Another yank at Vechs' hair tilts his head up and bares his neck, enough for Blame to move his mouth to just above Vechs' collar, sucking and biting until he's left what will soon be a huge, purple mark. Vechs makes a noise that's somewhere between a whine and a gasp, half sinking into the wall, half grinding himself against Blame's entire body.

Blame releases Vechs' other wrist, untucking both his red button down and white undershirt. The material of his glove scratches against the bare skin as he runs his fingers along the inside of Vechs' waistband until the tops of Blame's gloved fingers are resting on his stomach. It makes Vechs' attempts to unclip Blame's cloak stutter, struggling more than he should with the clasp until at last it slides off and pools on the floor behind, and the needlessly complicated jacket is entirely beyond him.

Getting Blame's jacket off suddenly loses its importance when Vechs' pants are undone and Blame's hand is down his boxers, wasting no time in wrapping his fingers around his cock in a firm grip and starting to stroke.

"Oh fuck man," Vechs gasps out, head lolling back and hands spread flat against the wall behind him as he bucks into Blame's hand. Blame keeps up an unyielding pace, leaving Vechs struggling to stand and panting.

Eventually Vechs manages to reach forward, hand over Blame's length, obvious even through the layers of material of his pants, boxers, and loincloth, hard and hot to the touch. Vechs moans again just to feel it like that, a groan that sounds more like a growl forcing its way out from Blame's clenched teeth as Vechs roughly palms at it.

Then Vechs has taken Blame by the shoulders and spun them around, switching their places and holding Blame there with the weight of his body. He grins wickedly down at Blame with pupils blown wide before he starts struggling out of his red shirt, and then he's dropping to his knees to pull Blame's pants open, tugging them down around his thighs and running his tongue up the underside of Blame's cock without any warning, before taking it into his mouth entirely, lips almost at the base. Blame chokes at the sudden sensation, whilst Vechs' entirely indecent moaning at having Blame's cock in his mouth sends vibrations right through Blame's entire body and makes heat pool in his stomach far too quickly for his liking.

Vechs is pretty efficient as well as enthusiastic, not letting up his rhythm once, even as his hands move from stroking Blame's cock in tandem with his mouth, to holding his hips, to briefly stroking himself, before cupping at Blame's balls, and then moving his fingers further back…

Blame abruptly pushes Vechs away, sending him crashing onto the floor.

"If anything like that's gonna happen," he says, voice almost threatening, dripping with furious outrage, "it's not gonna be _me_ on the receiving end. So if you want it," and Vechs can feel himself flushing with anticipation at Blame's implication, "get on with it yourself."

Vechs stays on the floor silently for a moment, looking practically pornographic, eyes blown wide, hair tousled, pants undone, tshirt ruched up, wet lips swollen and red, breath still shallow and fast, sprawled out and open. Then he's scrambling around, pulling off his pants and getting to his knees, his fingers already in his mouth, licking at them almost hungrily.

He has his fingers at his own entrance by the time he has his lips wrapped back around Blame's cock, pressing them inside himself and moaning brokenly, a noise which devolves into whimpers as he keeps working himself open and sucking Blame off. Blame's body reacts almost involuntarily, need flooding through him and spreading up his spine, fingers knotting roughly in Vechs' hair.

Eventually Vechs pulls off, finally unable to keep both going at once. His face is flushed, breathing too quickly, fingers still working in and out of himself.

"You ready then?" Blame asks, voice huskier than he'd admit, and Vechs nods, eyes shut, unable to stop touching himself. Blame grabs him by the forearm, hauling him half to his feet before pushing him down face first onto a nearby block of nether brick, bending his arms behind his back and holding them there in one hand, then he wrenches his own pants and boxers down with his free hand.

Vechs has done a good job, considering, but he's still tight, probably too tight if the high pitched gasp he makes as Blame pushes into him is anything to go by, Blame gripping onto his hip with his free hand, stopping Vechs from moving away or slowing it down, Blame groaning low in his throat as he sinks himself in, filling Vechs and making him keen against the burn and stretch. He doesn't give Vechs any time to adjust either before he's dragging himself back out and snapping his hips back in, setting up a punishing tempo, forcing broken gasps and whimpers out of his teammate beneath him, every thrust as deep as the first, Vechs unable to do anything but take it.

The heat and the effort has Blame's clothing clinging to his back, and Vechs' skin is almost slick with sweat, making it difficult for Blame to keep a firm hold on his hips. Eventually Blame's hand moves to Vechs' hair, half pulling at it, half keeping the man below him pressed down against the brick, and as he shifts his angle changes. Vechs goes rigid, letting out a choked wail, forcing himself as best he can further onto Blame.

The noise seems to spur Blame on, pounding into Vechs, unrelenting, low grunts escaping from him, whilst Vechs beneath him is practically unable to form words, just enough to get Blame's name out and a litany of broken _pleases_ and _oh gods_ as Blame's cock brushes over that place inside of him, sparking pleasure up his spine that feels strong enough to shatter him.

"Blame, please," Vechs nearly sobs, "please, touch me…" He knows he's close, so close, but it's just not quite enough, he needs it _now_ …

"Touch yourself," Blame grits out. He releases Vechs' arm but doesn't let up his thrusts, leaving Vechs to scrabble around to support himself before he can take himself in hand, letting out a relieved " _Oh god_ ," as he starts to stroke, trying to keep in time with Blame behind him, until seconds later he's spilling all over his hand and the bricks in front of him, coming with a strangled high-pitched groan, shaking with the force of it. Blame's low noises get louder and his movements turn erratic, until he's crying out, joining Vechs with a stifled curse. His hips grind against Vechs and his fingers dig into Vechs' hip bones, easily hard enough to bruise.

After the shortest of moments to get his breath back Blame pulls out and slumps back to sit against the wall, leaving Vechs still bent over the bricks, breath still shuddering.

"Oh god," Blame says, looking up at the ceiling as his head starts to clear from the rush of hormones and adrenaline and he starts to realize exactly what he's just done. "Oh fucking hell."

Vechs laughs, collapsing off the bricks to sprawl on his back on the floor, still breathing quite heavily. "Man that was good," he almost sighs, and looks up at Blame. He's wearing a cheekily expectant expression, and his fringe is damp and sticking to his forehead in clumps. "Can we do it again?"

Blame looks down sharply. "No!"

"Aww, spoilsport," Vechs giggles.

"In fact, how about we _never speak of this again._ "

Vechs is still smiling as he raises his hands in a placating gesture, though it's rendered slightly ridiculous since he's upside down from Blame's angle. "Your wish is my command."

"I mean it."

"I know." Then Vechs shifts again, and Blame looks down to find Vechs is trying to use his lap as a pillow.

"Get the fuck off!" he almost shrieks indignantly, pushing at Vechs' shoulder, who simply laughs and settles himself entirely on the floor again.

"Not much of a cuddler then?" he says, grinning. Blame just glares, and Vechs shrugs, instead reaching his hand up behind his own head to play absentmindedly with the hem of Blame's black vest. Blame doesn't have the energy to object, not right now. His head is fuzzy, he's exhausted from the fight and from _this,_ and as much as he'd like to get up and get out before he can think any more just what the "this" actually was, he's pretty certain his legs would give way if he tried to stand right now. Instead he's stuck on the floor, trying not to think in vivid technicolor detail of what he's just done. And with who.

He risks a glance down at Vechs, unable to resist checking for any signs that he's not the only one of the two of them currently feeling shellshocked by the whole thing. There's something about Vechs in his white shirt, he can't help but notice - it's a color Blame's never seen him in or associated with him, and it's a strange juxtaposition when there's a bruise blooming under his collar, scratches up his cheek and across his stomach from being held down, red marks from Blame's hands at his hips and around his wrists, his hair sweaty and sticking up, his lips kiss and bite-reddened, and said white shirt is stained with dusty smears from the nether brick. The whole picture looks debauched and used and as far away as possible from the innocence that the color implies. The only things that do match are Vechs' contented little smile, guileless and uncomplicated and content, and the bright blue of his eyes, in stark contrast with the dark reddish brown of their surroundings.

Vechs certainly doesn't look shellshocked. And Blame apparently is so tired that his thoughts are getting dangerously away from him.

He turns away, refusing to look at Vechs any longer when he's looking at him quite like that, like, well, he's not going to consider it. He doesn't even know what in god's name he was thinking. Bloodlust or something, strung out on too much adrenaline and not enough sleep to stop himself from making fucking _awful_ decisions.

The silence starts to feel oppressive then. The background sounds of the mobs start to filter back in to Blame's attention, and he drags himself to his feet before he can think any more. He has less clothing to get back on than Vechs, and he's already tucked into his boxers again, dressing quickly and efficiently, trying not to look at his teammate, who doesn't seem keen on moving quite yet. Apparently he's happy to lounge splayed out on the floor for now, even if the location is totally unsuitable for such things - there was nothing to have stopped a blaze or wither skeleton turning up in the middle of their little tryst after all. Although at least there would have been no repercussions if either of them had died then, not now everything's over.

"Man, I'm gonna be feeling this for days," Vechs says, and Blame turns to look at him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Sorry, sorry, won't mention it again."

Blame wonders if Vechs can tell how much he's regretting all this already, closing down and blocking out, already hiding behind his mask, and trying to ignore what feels more like panic than simple regret crawling up his throat and twisting in his stomach. He's not showing it if he does though.

"We need to get out of here, the others will be wondering where we've got to," Blame says, keeping his voice even and businesslike, strapping on his sword.

"No they won't, they're all too busy licking their own wounded pride," Vechs replies, but he pushes himself up off the floor and starts getting dressed again all the same, for which Blame is exceptionally grateful. He doesn't need to be around a semi naked and languorous Vechs a second longer, so he takes up a position at the doorway, both to look out for mobs and to give himself an excuse to ignore Vechs as best he can.

"All clear?"

Blame turns to find Vechs standing behind him, probably a little too close, fully dressed, eyes covered by his goggles and weapons strapped to his belt. Thankfully the mark at his collarbone is well covered by his undershirt, because Blame has no idea how they'd explain that, and he knows it won't have faded by tomorrow's debrief.

"Yeah," Blame replies. "Time to get out of here."

"D'ya wanna head back to spawn first?" Vechs suggests. "I kinda wanna see what the hell they were doing up there."

Blame was more than ready to disconnect, to get as far away from Vechs as physically possible, but he can't help but be curious about what was going on on the surface whilst they were trying to plan their way out of this literal hellhole.

"Fuck it. Why not."

Vechs grins and sets off, cheerfully singing to himself, which grates on Blame's frayed nerves and has him regretting his decision to head up top already. The walk back to the portal is uneventful though, ghasts and blazes either absent or too distant to bother them, and they step through together.

When the woozy purple feeling fades Blame screws up his eyes against the sunlight, bright even through his mask compared to the gloom they've just come from. Even squinting though he immediately spots the little house which the other team must have built, surrounded by melons and beds, and is that a _golden apple_ framed above the door? Blame scoffs at it; a monument to a remarkable ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

"Dumb fucks," Vechs says, shaking his head. "They had all this time… Oh well, their loss, I guess. Literally!"

Blame snorts a short laugh. He can't help but feel vindicated to the point of smug to see just how overconfident the other team had been.

"Well, until next time, Blame," Vechs turns and grins at him, almost saluting, apparently not interested in exploring the build at all, "take it easy!"

And then he's gone, disconnected, vanishing in an instant.

Considering how anxious Blame had been to get away Vechs' disappearance feels more abrupt than it should. He blinks into the empty space for a moment before his shoulders sag, not sure if that's from relief that he's alone at last or minor despair at the complicated mess he's just tangled his life into.

Being the last one on the server has its advantages though, and he makes the most of having no-one around to curse loudly at the empty meadow.

Why did it have to be _Vechs_?!


End file.
